Twice Lost
by Romann
Summary: Long before sunrise, Eric had already had a glimpse of how it felt to lose one's maker. Please read and HEED the warnings inside.


Warnings: Spoilers for the Dallas arc up until 2x09. There is dub-con material below, verging into non-con--if that is a trigger, _steer clear_.

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Yelping melodramatically to each other that Eric had cooties, lots of cooties, Sookie and Bill hobbled away, putting as much debris between themselves and him as they could. As Sookie's cute head bobbed out of sight, Eric's senses sobered up and refocused on their default target.

_Godric._

Godric, trailing behind the others and stilling once they were gone to turn towards Eric.

The moment that trussed up human had revealed himself, the only things in his mind had been Sookie, her mortality and her proximity to that detonator. Godric, who had consumed every last one of his thoughts for the last few weeks, had slipped his mind entirely. Perhaps aided by the smell of burnt flesh, the realisation that he had simply forgotten about Godric hit him so violently that he could almost feel it rearing up and punching him in the gut.

There were actual tangles of limbs underneath charred furniture, wall chunks strewn everywhere. Blood seeped out from underneath the clutter, pooling around patches of silver-riddled flesh in corners of the place that had surely never seen flesh before, even if this was _Godric's_ nest. It was impossible to tell which random body parts belonged to humans and which to vampires, but there were vampire bits in the chaos. They had lost a few of their own.

They could have lost Godric.

The overwhelming relief that they hadn't was currently overshadowed by the fact that Godric was still standing, but Eric had played no part in that. In fact...

'Are you healed?' Godric deadpanned, prompting Eric's mind to scramble about for an apology, for something resembling a phrasing that Godric might accept. Eric didn't apologise often, particularly not to Godric. He had learnt early on that it was frankly best to stay out of situations where an apology to Godric might be needed.

But one was needed now--the first, he suspected, of many. Powdered concrete gathered on Godric's hair, on his blast-bitten shirt. There was a generous sprinkle of blood on his neck, probably his own. Peeled paint and wood and dirt crackled under his feet as he shifted from one foot to another, waiting for Eric to reply. If he had died, Eric would have done nothing to prevent it. If he had died, Eric would have been flirting.

Godric eyed him up and down, as though trying to gauge a reply that way, and he had a sudden, absolutely ridiculous urge to cover the spots where Sookie's lips had been. If there was any saliva left on his body from her valiant efforts, Godric could surely spot its glimmer. Eric daren't look down himself to check. He didn't recall ever having been ashamed of his conquests.

This promised to be a memorable first time.

It had very little to do with how effectively he would actually have shielded Godric from the blast (being younger and weaker, he was probably better off being shielded _by_ Godric). It was a matter of principle. Protect your maker. Protect _Godric_. When it really mattered, he had protected a human instead.

All at once, Godric's quietness, that very gentle sway of his head, felt very sad to Eric. Very _disappointed_. That cut into him most of all.

Stan's mangled body lay not too far from them, webbed fabric and entrails filling the distance between them all. Not completely dry spatters of blood slithered down Godric's skin, seeping into his collar. He could have died and Eric would have let him.

'Are you well?' Godric rephrased.

Knowing from experience that his maker's patience would not last much longer, and feeling himself shrink with each word, Eric lowered his eyes from the bloodied skin and directed the smallest of nods to someone's shattered calves.

Godric replied with an equally tiny nod, but Eric saw only his legs turning to wrestle out of the room.

A human girl, different from Sookie only in that she had been far unluckier in the protective vampire department, lay sprawled in Godric's way. He scooped her up, placing her gently on his formerly white sofa and taking a moment to arrange her pasty hair so that her cracked skull wasn't visible, to give her some dignity in death.

The explosion that Eric had expected didn't come, and he wondered for a moment if Godric was simply never going to acknowledge him again.

'Godric.'

'Hmm?' Godric turned away from the girl, but not towards him, as another corpse tumbled down from atop the now rickety table, its arm wrapping eerily around his ankles.

Clambering over the mess as carelessly as Godric was being thoughtful, Eric reached his maker just as he finished repositioning the battered vampire's body.

'Godric.' It sounded raspier the second time.

'Yes, my child?' Godric didn't look away from his former underling's open-eyed face, a quietness in his voice that had never boded well. That was Eric's - again, carefully limited - experience of it, at least. He was not comfortable with this new Godric who spared a thought for those who failed to survive and who made Eric guess at his intentions.

They knew each other too well, were too much a part of each other for this volte-face to be anything other than alarming. He watched extra hard for any signs that his bombastic fireball of a maker might resurface, but found nothing. He was left with this psychotically calm version of Godric, who now stood, head tilted up to him with the vaguest curiosity in his raised brow.

_I'm sorry_, his self-preserving instinct screamed at him to say, _Forgive me_. Other indignities along the lines of _I didn't think, I didn't know, don't look at me that way, don't shut me out_, followed in his addled brain. Mercifully, none made it beyond this lips, which clamped shut against his teeth just as he tested out a more dignified take on _I'd have died if you did_.

Godric's interest gradually waned, his brow unarching back into its usual position, and he looked away, turning to leave. At that, Eric's motor skills finally caught up, but rather than the subdued belly-crawl that the situation demanded, it was his fingers that moved first, reaching out for the dark crusts on his maker's neck.

Godric froze at the touch of his fingertips, his lids lowering to disguise the progression of his gaze towards Eric's hand. The intimacy of the touch was so clearly unexpected that Sookie would have screeched at his manners (Bill would no doubt have had the vapours), and the thought almost made Eric smile, because then... Sookie and Bill also thought that sucking shrapnel out of Eric's chest in the middle of an apocalypse was too intimate. They were a strange pair, those two. Eric and Godric, though... they could not possibly have been more intimate than they were, after so many lifetimes of pulling each other out of harm's way, pouring themselves into each other's veins at more turns than they cared to count, owing and granting each other so much in every way throughout the centuries that sometimes it had been difficult to know where the one ended and the other began. They only felt each other's touch once every few decades and still, any two people rutting away for years couldn't have become as close as they had.

So, somehow, amidst the chaos that ruled him at the moment, Eric rather thought that touching Godric's healed neck was the only natural, right thing to do. Even if he hadn't planned it, and even if all that he could feel was the harsh, uneven surface of the dried blood.

'It's stale,' Godric commented quietly, 'and it must be dirty.'

The words made his throat dance under Eric's fingertips, which did not retreat, but rather moved along with the vibration, slipping very lightly under his collar and hooking against the moistness of the blood that had wormed in. Absurdly, Eric heard himself croak out a meek, 'I wasn't going to lick it...'

Was that the hint of a smile pulling at the corners of Godric's lips? No, it was gone. It was a shadow.

'I should have come to you,' Eric muttered, almost as if it were an afterthought. _I'm sorry. Forgive me_. 'I should have shielded you.'

'It doesn't matter,' Godric replied, looking up at him as he spoke.

Something unknown inside Eric ripped apart in a way that wouldn't easily sew back up. _It doesn't matter_. Not 'you did you well, Eric,' or 'I understand, Eric,' or even 'Yes, you should, Eric. Next time make sure you do.' Not even 'Eric' at all.

As he considered this, his fingertips traced the length of Godric's throat and traipsed along his skin, beyond the blood, molding around the neck and cradling it gently when Godric didn't move. Godric was so cold, even to his touch.

He had to do a mental double take there. _Cold?_ True, Eric himself was still lukewarm from having fed, but even so, Godric should not feel--how long _had_ it been since he had fed? _I require very little food any more?_ What did that even mean?

Godric looked away, perhaps looking for another carcass that he could straighten out. For all their intimacy, some gestures were inappropriate. The one flitting into Eric's mind at the moment was. That one human weakness when the one grabs the other's chin to "force" eye contact. Godric had done it to him once or twice in the distant past, before he got bored of the power play, but Eric hadn't, couldn't. So when Godric looked away, he had to let him.

And when Godric walked away, closing someone's legs here, tracing a random body part back to its owner there, Eric's arm dropped numbly and he was still reeling too much from Godric's words to stop him.

It doesn't matter. _It doesn't matter?_

Debris crackled and flesh squished under his feet as he trundled towards Godric, catching up with him just by the door, where he had stopped to stare at Stan's mangled body as if he were infinitely more interesting than Eric.

Eric's pride flailed tentatively. Even as a shredded corpse, Stan was all fireworks and nothing of substance, and certainly not a match for him. There was no possible reason for Godric to turn from him and towards Stan, for whom he had never cared, with whom he had never had a shadow of the connection _they_ had.

Yet it was on Stan that Godric's gaze had rested, quietly, thoughtfully, almost apologetically, and it didn't shift when Eric's hand landed on his upper arm.

There was a hint of jealousy in his words when he tried to draw Godric's attention back to himself. 'It matters to me.'

Godric looked away from Stan and at a disembodied arm at their feet. He crouched to pick it up and it seemed to take up all of his concentration, even as he muttered, 'What does?'

It was perhaps a good thing Eric's hand was no longer around Godric's neck.

Scrunching himself down to look him in the eye, Eric clarified, 'I know I should have come to you.' _I'm sorry. Forgive me._ 'But she's human, she'd have--'

'You measured the pros and cons,' Godric cut him off, not a hint of playfulness in his voice. Godric had never liked it when Eric lied to him. 'Impressive.'

'You're still alive,' Eric muttered, somewhere between apology, self-loathing and unbound relief, possibly with a bit of desperation thrown in. This wasn't his most articulate moment.

'Yes, I'm still alive,' Godric sniffed, 'aren't I?'

A stroppy _'what else do you want?'_ lurked somewhere in his tone. Something about it was so ugly, so alarming that it made Eric's very skin prickle.

Giving up on the anonymous limb, Godric placed it beside the nearest human-looking form and rose. This time Eric didn't move from his position at his feet, and he must have looked too crushed even for Godric to ignore it.

'It doesn't matter,' he repeated, reassuringly now. 'Really, it doesn't.'

_It matters to me_. Eric didn't repeat it. This Godric didn't seem to particularly care about what mattered to Eric.

But this Godric, however disquieting he was, was still _his_ Godric, still standing despite Eric's irresponsibility, despite the Fellowship lunatics, and what could have been was at once too possible and too inconceivable, and Eric's relief was too overwhelming--

His arms wound around Godric, and because even on his knees he was almost as tall as his maker, his face collided awkwardly with Godric's lower ribs, eventually nestling between them as his hands locked behind Godric's back and anchored them both in place. This was another of those rare inappropriate touches, as evidenced by Godric's instant jack-knifing up and Eric's own fumbling movements, but he didn't care. There might even have been a certain revulsion in the way Godric's arms had sprung up to avoid Eric's, but Eric did not care, because Godric was stronger than _everyone_, and when something displeased him he showed it, and Godric hadn't pushed him off, so Eric tightened his hold and _enjoyed_ it.

Tonight could have gone differently. Eric could have been cradling a lifeless Godric. The only reason there would be no-one around would be because Eric would have kicked out all the sycophants, all the airheads who would have had no idea what they, what _Eric_ had lost. He would have been alone, possibly still digging Godric out of the mess, and he wasn't now. So, in his gratitude, in his relief and his joy - and his guilt - he held his maker closer still _and he enjoyed it_, all of it: the tense frame between his arms, the feel of muscle through the sweater, Godric's legs standing against his stomach and not buried in the rubble, the way every inch he felt against him was whole and alert, and not pooling limply in nameless blood.

His hands tightened into fists against the back of Godric's clothing and the fabric rode up into them, baring Godric's skin against his wrists.

_Godric was so cold_. Was it paranoia, or did his skin feel thinner, more papery than before? Eric could almost picture him crumbling into nothingness in his hands from lack of nutrition, and he had a mad urge to feed him, force feed him if need be--but as the moments passed and Godric didn't reduce him to cinders, real or metaphorical, something of his own temper returned, and he still smarted from Godric's earlier refusal to feed.

'They will be waiting for us at the hotel,' Godric pointed out. As he breathed in to speak, his chest rippled against Eric's lips, and Eric tightened the embrace even further, savouring the feeling.

That was all he wanted, really, another moment so that he could reassure himself entirely that Godric had made it. He had barely had time to fully convince himself of it before that idiotic human had blown himself up, and then he had been busy hating his own hormones, but now at least he could settle down and just indulge in his drunken relief for a moment. Part of him considered flinging Godric over his shoulder and hiding somewhere where Eric could sit and stare at him until he felt fully reassured. He had done it once - the flinging bit - at some point in the Middle Ages, and Godric had laughed and laughed.

Godric didn't look like he would laugh if he did it now, so Eric relished in the embrace while he could, reasserting Godric's continued existence by breathing in his scent through the dusty sweater, all the while trying to shut out how icy he felt. _I'm sorry. Forgive me._

'They'll be waiting for us at the hotel,' Godric repeated, his vocabulary seeming to have shrunk considerably in the blast.

Eric, whose interest in who was waiting where was currently below zero, mumbled something in reply, but the words sank gracelessly into Godric's clothing, and if he moved at all, it was only to splay his fingers across Godric's back and close them spasmodically again on the fabric to bring him as close as the laws of physics allowed.

It was so unlike Eric, all this kneeling, mumbling, touching without permission that, for a moment, it cut through Godric's supreme _ennui_. His hand ghosted down the side of Eric's face to rest at the nape of his neck, pressing gently into the hair, and Eric's shoulders quaked for a fraction of a second. The hand retreated.

And yet, Godric didn't force his way out of the embrace. Perhaps he thought he was being generous, letting himself be held. Perhaps he didn't quite know how to react to Eric's uncharacteristic openness.

'Shall we try moving, my child?' he asked, in that hollow voice that he used with Eric now. Why had Godric taken to sounding like he was talking about the weather?

If there was a command in the words, Eric chose to ignore it. Godric's chest rippled again against the corner of his lips, but it was a short ripple this time, as he had only one word to say.

'Move.'

The command manoeuvred Eric's muscles until he rose. Suddenly self-conscious, he straightened out Godric's sweater and humbly bowed his head by way of apology.

Godric was casting a pained glance at their surroundings, and as Eric finally made use of all their years together and recognised the expression on his maker's face, the small, embarrassed smile on his lips evaporated. He had seen that expression once.

_Somewhere down a river in the Black Forest, they had been scrubbing out the remnants of dinner (stale blood had always made Godric's skin crawl) and Godric had good-naturedly mocked Eric's scars. Something about Eric's skills as a warrior and being a bit of an airhead. Eric had responded with something crude that he couldn't quite recall, but it involved Godric being an even bigger airhead, since even the blades knew he would only notice them if they dipped themselves in ink before coming for him._

The last words were still on his lips when it occurred to Eric that Godric had obviously not carved up his own back. His tattoos had been someone else's decision. He had been at someone else's mercy, once. It was almost inconceivable to him now, but his maker had once been a boy.

Godric, who rather looked like he wanted to supper on Eric's scars, had apparently had the opposite epiphany. Eric, who would forever be an infant vampire to him, had once been a man. Every mark that he carried from that period had been his own decision to make. Godric had had no say in the marks he carried.

That wasn't sympathy in Godric's eyes. Then and now, that was _envy_.

Godric's gaze swept the room without stopping on Eric, who was frantically going over his earlier words. 'I'm alive, aren't I?', he'd said.

_What else do you want? _

His hands reached for Godric's head, palming it perhaps a bit too roughly in his attempt to stop himself from smashing it against the wall until Godric came back to his senses (one of those _very bad ideas_, his own sanity chipped in to remind him).

Still, even as he actively tried not to crush his maker into powder, Eric knew that he was not being gentle, so why his fingers had not yet been snapped off was a mystery. Godric had never been one to withstand even the smallest amount of unwanted pain. The fact that he hadn't yet sent Eric reeling across the room was unsettling.

They were so wide, Godric's eyes, so unlike the narrowed slits that Eric remembered. They made him look younger, almost boyish, almost human. Almost breakable.

As Eric thought that he liked the narrowed slits better, Godric blinked at him. Once. Twice. His left eyelid twitched against Eric's thumb.

He had been pulling too strongly at the (thin, papery, cold...) skin. Godric was uncomfortable.

And somehow he was still in possession of all his limbs.

Repositioning his hands, Eric apologetically smoothed the skin around Godric's eyes, which still blinked in readjustment. It would have been comical if they weren't so wide, and light, and empty.

Eric could see himself reflected in them, if he leaned further in. As he did, his wrist brushed the dried crusts on Godric's neck and, unthinkingly, he scrubbed them with his palm. Usually, the more blood there was, the better, but here it made Godric look injured and Eric was uneasy with that idea.

His bloodied hand made an even bigger mess of Godric's neck, and Godric's head swayed, softly at first and then heavily, in sync with his movements. But his eyes were unfocused and Eric leaned further in to draw them back to himself.

And then, there had been a substantial shift in the universe, because what followed simply didn't add up. Eric had leaned in only slightly, he was sure of that. No more than an inch. Yet never in a thousand years had Godric's eyes been so near.

Godric hadn't moved at all. Yet that was one of his lips Eric could feel between his own.

He _hadn't_ taken leave of his senses. He could recognise an upper lip. Godric's was definitely - somehow - in his mouth. It quivered a little because Eric was still scrubbing furiously at Godric's neck.

He stilled as soon as he made that connection, but as his hand rested lovingly and heavily on Godric's skin, it tilted his head just that little bit, pushing his lip further between Eric's and this was just becoming very, very awkward.

For a tiny moment, Eric considered his position (that would be half bent over, cupping his maker's head in his hands, his mouth closed in a pout against Godric's) and was at a loss about what to do. He was quite inexperienced in this.

"This" being "planting his mouth on Godric's", not mouths in general. He was by no means inexperienced regarding everyone else's mouths. These days they tended to be the swiftest road to reluctant necks, in fact, so he had made sure he was also quite good at handling them.

Godric's lip did feel quite parched. Eric's tongue instinctively flicked out to moisten it. He only had time to note that it was dusty before Godric withdrew, drawing an undignified, wet sound from Eric's lips when they found themselves parting against thin air.

For all Eric's earlier efforts to get him to talk, when Godric's mouth began to shape out what looked like it might become a sound he suddenly found that he didn't want to hear a single word. The eyes boring into his were so wide, so alive with surprise, they almost kick-started Eric's heart. His fingers went from cradling Godric's cheek to brushing his lips, lingering there where they were wet from Eric's tongue, burning them into his mind in a way he hadn't before. Godric closed his mouth and, as he did, his bottom lip dragged dryly against Eric's fingers.

Something about the sight of that made Eric's fangs itch to come out. This was thin ice he was treading though, so he had to reassure himself that they were safely recoiled. Strangely enough, it was only as he did so, his eyes trained on the glimpses of Godric's lips behind his fingers, that the baser part of him joined the scene.

He hadn't meant to bring Godric's head against his quite so brusquely - mostly because he had never been brusque towards Godric - but his free hand had been quicker than his mind, and their noses came together before their mouths did. Sparing barely a millisecond of appreciation for the great gift of instant healing, Eric shifted and then, yes, then they were kissing. He was kissing his own fingers more thoroughly than Godric's mouth, and it took him a bit to realise that it was probably best to remove his hand from Godric's lips before proceeding--but once he did, once he could actually trace Godric's whole mouth with his own, he wondered why on Earth it had taken him a full millennium to do this. In fact, he thought as his mouth tried to encompass Godric's in one completely graceless and yet totally satisfying swoop, how had he managed to _live_ this long without kissing Godric? Surely he had at least thought of it at some point--he couldn't be _that_ stupid, he thought, teasing the tip of Godric's tongue with his, drawing Godric's lips between his teeth, peppering the corners of his mouth and his cheeks with something halfway between pecks and nibbles, whatever came first. There may have been a bit of sniffing going on at one moment.

Godric's lips had finally parted for him at some point, and all that Eric could feel as he made his way along Godric's jaw was the way they felt against his skin. They felt much less ashy and cold once they were wet, he decided. They felt perfect. A millennium. How on Earth.

Just as he reached the junction between jaw and neck, Eric felt a small pang of frustration. Godric's hand was sliding up his arm, he could feel _that_, but there was no other reaction that he could latch onto. He was used to demanding groans and people tearing at his clothes by this point. But he had no experience of Godric in this way. He had glimpsed one or two scenes in the past, but Godric had always been quite private in this regard. Now that he thought about it, Godric had always gone out of his way to keep his trysts from Eric. He had never questioned his maker's judgement, because Godric gave him so much of his time already that when he wanted his privacy, Eric had to respect it. He _wanted_ to respect it.

Godric's hand reached his shoulder, the curled fingers tickling the back of his neck. The veins in Godric's arm, however depleted, were so close. Eric checked again that his fangs were recoiled just as the tips of his teeth grazed Godric's collarbone, and the skin there rumbled again.

'There's no shrapnel there.'

Eric only noticed that his eyes had been closed when they snapped open at the words. He looked up... down... _up_ at his maker, whose hand left his shoulder--again--breaking fully away from him.

There was a tiny, minuscule curl in Godric's mouth, a little sign of distaste that had never before been directed at Eric. Godric was mocking him.

Eric didn't know, nor did he care, whether Godric was mocking the trick he had played on Sookie, or the show of affection of just now. Godric, as he knew him, would not have cared about the trick. He would not have mocked the affection, if only because he knew that Eric equated sentimentality with vulnerability, and no-one other than Godric had ever, or would ever be privy to a vulnerable Eric. Godric liked this sort of exclusivity. He would not have mocked it.

But he had.

With his words, with his tone, with that infuriating curl in his lip, with the smug stance that he somehow maintained even if he had to crane his neck backwards to see as Eric, in his fury and his shame, brought himself to his full height. Even with his arm, slipping gently from Eric's rising shoulder and blazing a trail down his front until it dangled in the thick air between them. Every inch of Godric, down to his eyes, which had _now_ decided to narrow infinitesimally in a parody of his sharp self, was mocking Eric.

How dare he.

Eric had never shown him the open concern he had tonight because never until tonight had he ever had to torture himself with ideas of what could have been. He had never approached him with this particular twist of affection because until now he had not known that he _felt_ it. But he still knew his place. He would have taken any reaction, _any_ reaction, without a complaint. Had Godric beaten him into a pulp that he would not forget for centuries to come for his audacity, Eric would have taken it apologising abjectly, because his maker mattered more to him than whatever kink crossed his mind during a moment of distress.

That, he had always been sure, was the reason they had cared for each other so very deeply for so very long when unfortunate infants like Bill were left to wrestle off their makers even after being officially released. Eric and Godric had always respected each other too much. Nothing had ever been meaningless. When Godric wanted to order him about, however demeaning the task, Eric submitted because there had always been a lesson in it. When Eric rebelled for whatever reason, Godric indulged him because he knew he had to nurture Eric's individuality. Nothing in the wider world, however enticing, had ever stopped them from coming back to each other.

When one of them had a rare moment of weakness, they had always dealt with it and strengthened their link with it. There was violence in it, occasionally. There was no mockery, no dismissal, and no sardonic words framed by any sort of curled lips.

_How dare he._

Perhaps mistaking Eric's viperine stillness for acquiescence, which said volumes about how out of tune they were, Godric looked down and sidestepped him on his way out--again. Something inside Eric strained at the nonchalance, stretching until it snapped. He would eventually have to mourn it, whatever it was. It would not be pieced back.

Godric had taken maybe half a step when Eric reached behind himself, grasping his arm without so much as looking at it--knowing perfectly well where it was, because _that_ was the depth of their connection.

His foot still hovered mid-step when Eric spun silently round and reeled him back. Godric's back collided with Eric's front with a muted sound and Eric's arms wound around him, all around him, so tight, so all-encompassing, that anyone other than Godric would have had trouble moving a muscle. One of Eric's hands found his jaw and gripped it viciously, tilting his head back against Eric's bloodied, clammy, dirty chest. A sound left Godric's throat that sounded a bit like a politely choked snort. That sound sent red blotches swimming in front of Eric's eyes.

There was not a hope that he would do anything to Godric that his maker wouldn't allow him to do. In his infuriated mind, though, that was as close to an ideal situation as he was going to get at this point. He wasn't even sure what he wanted to do anymore, but he wanted to do _something_, he _had_ to do something, he would play it by ear for as long as he possibly could, and if Godric killed him in the process, then at least he would die standing up for himself.

Those eyes still mocked him, even as they crossed with the strain of looking up and back into Eric's. They purposefully searched Eric's eyes solely to make fun of him. That maddening curl in Godric's lip looked more pronounced under his grip. It positively humiliated him when Godric disloged Eric's other hand from where it clawed at his side and replaced it against his crotch.

Eric had clearly been the only one fighting overwhelming sensations.

Godric's brow moved almost unnoticeably. Eric closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to find out if there was more mockery on the way or if there would be pity, this time. Neither would be bearable. At his reaction, Godric's hand gripped his more tightly and pressed further against the loose, unstrained fabric, making the point clearly. Eric's erection had deflated at Godric's words. Godric's had never been there at all.

There was an almost physical sting to the humiliation when he reopened his eyes, his head bent low to avoid Godric's gaze. Looking down, he saw his hand held in Godric's, entirely under his maker's command. As ever. His fingers flexed against the fabric as though they couldn't believe the indifference. His pride growled. He had never been turned down so completely. He flexed them again and a diminute sigh of boredom was let out against his ear. His pride reared up and roared.

Slipping his hand from Godric's grasp, trusting his body's extensive experience for the first time that night, Eric ran his fingertips along Godric's waistband, under the tatty sweater, and when Godric made no move at all he plunged them unceremoniously into the jeans, checking the state of affairs for himself.

Godric was limp between his fingers, dormant as no-one had ever been at Eric's touch. With the addition of a hand, his jeans were tight, and Eric didn't have much room to manoeuvre, but he did his best, sliding down and around and into whatever free room there was in search of a reaction. Any reaction. If Godric wanted him to stop... well, he had only to _stop_ him, because Eric certainly wouldn't.

He wasn't sure exactly when the mantra in his mind had gone from _I'm sorry_ to _Stop me_, when _Forgive me_ had become _I dare you_. Yet, amidst the nightmarish turn the evening had taken, he somehow felt that he was in more familiar grounds this way. _I will stop if you make me. I will stop if you go back to what you were._ His fingers tugged at the flesh, no longer searching but openly groping, pushing Godric against him. Godric's heels left the ground, but he didn't move.

_Stop me. I dare you._

Now that he _hadn't_ stopped, even in face of Godric's blatant disinterest, and seeing as he was still alive, he was quite curious about the look he would find in Godric's eyes. Raising his head and suppressing something like a shudder at the way Godric's head leaned uncharacteristically against his neck, he saw that Godric's eyes were wide again, dispassionately roaming the space, focusing on nothing and least of all on Eric.

His hand on Godric's crotch must have tensed crushingly, but he wouldn't know, consumed as he was by a burst of degraded anger so strong that he thought he might implode from it.

Releasing Godric's jaw to twine his arm around his middle, he spun him around and backed him against the door so fast even he forgot to measure the distances and they hit it at a wrong angle. Godric's back smashed against the splintered wooden panels and the door slammed againt the wall. One of its hinges fell off. Eric lost his balance, but not his claw-like grip, and after an indistinct half-second, they had landed in a bit of a heap on the gut-strewn floor, Eric sitting on his legs with one of Godric's bent up against his side and Godric's back against the creaking door.

And then his hands were on Godric, all over Godric, pulling him to himself, pushing him further against the door, his thighs rising against Godric's and cushioning them as the flurry of movement sent them up and down against the wooden panels and back against the dirty floor. There was one thing, just one, he wanted to do before Godric ripped off his head.

Disentangling his hands from wherever the hell they had been, he brought them up the sides of Godric's head, making sure they were rough, making sure they hurt just a little, so that Godric's eyes would be on his when he kissed him. He rose onto his knees when his mouth reached Godric's, so eager in its pounce that it opened wide and nearly swallowed up Godric's entire jaw rather than just his lips.

His hips pushed Godric's against the door, the door slammed against the wall and his fingers curled around Godric's head, pressing the scalp to make sure Godric's eyes didn't drift off into nothingness. At some point, his mouth closed against Godric's bottom lip, and then his upper lip, and again the bottom one, more tenderly than he had meant it, so he pushed up against Godric more firmly and pulled at his head so that the mouth would part for his tongue. One of Godric's legs was still on the floor, far too far. He wanted to feel Godric as Godric could feel _him_. If Godric wouldn't move, Eric would _make_ him move. Shifting against his mouth with a groan, he reached out for the leg and wrapped it around himself just as his other hand slipped under Godric's sweater and pulled it up. His own torso was mostly on display, so it was only fair.

_Stop me. Stop me. Stop me._

Their mouths broke apart when the hem of the sweater reached Godric's neck and Eric pulled it over his head, noting with a certain amount of self-satisfaction that Godric's never-breathing chest heaved ever so slightly before his eyes.

_I dare you._

He wasn't happy to see that there was no change in the rhythm when he touched his lips to it, raking his mouth across the skin, teeth hooking on the outline of Godric's softly sliding ribcage. And he missed the sight of Godric's face. Covering Godric's chest again, he crushed their mouths together so quickly that he barely had time to see it. He had noticed that Godric's lips were still parted, and that was good enough. His hands slithered up Godric's back, tracing the tattoos that Godric had once been so sensitive about, and Godric's hips shifted against his lap, his legs unwrapping from around Eric. Godric's lips were softer, more distant against his skin, prompting one of his arms to hook tightly around Godric's neck. He would rip Godric to shreds if he pulled away condescendingly again. He didn't know how he would do it, but he would. He would actually rather be ripped to shreds himself than go through that once more.

_Hmphm._

Which of them had made that sound? Just as he wondered that, he thought that it mattered very little. If there were still any non-hollow sounds left in Godric, he would find a way to wrench them out.

_Stop me. I dare you._

His lip broke against Godric's teeth and in the second it took for it to heal he could taste his own blood, warm with tension, seeping into his mouth. Careful not to drink any of it, he scooped it up with his tongue and pushed it into Godric's mouth. Godric needed it more than he did. Also, the idea of forcing his blood into Godric's body was suddenly, eerily, attractive, so he pushed it into Godric's mouth and made sure it stayed there. This time, when his fangs came out, he didn't retract them.

Well, that low, surprised, shamed whimper had definitely come from Godric.

It made Eric's skin _smolder._

His hand pulled at Godric's collar, and his mouth followed it, along the jaw, into the neck, into the shoulder once his fingers had torn enough fabric out of the way. He teased the skin, but didn't bite down. He was rather enjoying the way Godric's muscles tensed expectantly under the flesh, the way Godric's hand reluctantly found its way back into his hair. He particularly liked the way Godric's thighs gingerly inched back to his sides without him making them do it.

Not entirely enthusiastically, he pulled away just for a bit. He had never seen Godric like this, and chances were he never would again, so he wanted a proper look at it. Seeing the parted lips reddened with his blood, the exposed shoulder wet from his tongue, the arms wrapping feebly around his shoulders, was almost as enticing as feeling them. In fact, he thought as he reached Godric's eyes and they held his gaze steadily, coldly, _mockingly_, seeing the effect he was provoking might for once be even more appealing than feeling it.

His hands descended onto Godric's hips and, giving his maker a moment of absorb the feeling, because he wanted to see but he wanted Godric to _feel_, he gripped them further against himself, ensconcing him in his lap. The fabric wasn't quite so loose now. There was more to the way Godric's hips shifted in his lap than discomfort. Still Godric held his gaze, still he curled his lips at him, but there seemed to be more defiance there than mockery. Eric kneaded Godric's thighs so that they rocked twice, thrice, against his. Even as his hips thrust forward in Eric's hands, Godric's chin was up in defiance, as though he had merely asked Eric to service him.

No-one who was about to unravel in Eric's lap had any right to look so defiant. Not even Godric.

Knowing now that nothing would disconcert Godric more, he leaned in without slowing his rocking and kissed the corner of Godric's mouth. Then the other. Brushed the one with the tip of his tongue. Then the other. Godric's hips tightening against his and Godric's loosening on his. The very, very tip of his tongue finding Godric's and one of his hands leaving Godric's hip to wind around his back, slapping the sweater out of the way.

Godric didn't feel quite so cold now.

A small breath brushed his lips and he inhaled it, sending it back into Godric's mouth with the barest brush of his lips, the lightest flick of his tongue. His fingers drifted down Godric's back, insinuating themselves underneath the waistband.

_Stop me. I dare you._

Godric tensed further and froze under his touch, defiance burning in his eyes but nowhere else in him as Eric's rocked him steadily with one hand and pushed the other further down against his buttocks. Around them. Between them. No such thing as loose fabric now.

Godric's hips rocked on their own now. His eyes were closing. Eric kissed them open, unable to hide a smirk of victory. It turned into a bit of a grin when Godric's eyes blazed at it. He leaned further in, stopping a hair's breadth from Godric's lips to give himself the satisfaction of seeing them part without touching them. Godric pushed erratically against him now, and as his one hand settled between Godric's buttocks just grazing all those tiny, spidery muscles that tensed against it, his other hand left Godric's hip to hold his head against Eric's. He wanted to see this.

His experience of reading Godric's physicality wasn't quite as useless in this instance as he had thought, after all. He knew exactly when that wretched defiance would leave his eyes. That would be when Godric's thighs went from squeezing him to downright crushing him, which they did a second later. There was little defiance left in Godric's eyes when his rocking shifted from erratic to spasmodic. There was none when Eric lowered his lips to Godric's for a shadow of a moment. When Godric's arms on his back slipped an inch, he pushed the tip of his middle finger into Godric and froze there, wallowing in the feeling that Godric wanted more, committing to memory the tightening of Godric's body against him and the growl that escaped his lips even as he clearly tried to contain it. And the way every one of Godric's fingers splayed on his back. And the ridiculously open look in his eyes. And every other detail that he possibly absorb, because he was quite sure nothing could ever top this.

Or perhaps it could, it occurred to him as the thrashing in his lap reverberated through him and made his own movements turn fumbly. What a pity. He wasn't quite ready to let go yet, wasn't sure that he would ever be. Holding himself together just a moment longer, he pushed further into Godric, once, twice, again. Again. And again, and with another finger, gently now, roughly then, and again. Again. _Again_, and this time Eric didn't kiss him, because Godric was making sounds, and Eric was commited to unearthing as many of those as he possibly could.

When Godric quieted down, he shifted so that he could brace himself against the door with his free arm, half crawling over Godric, half pushing him up between himself and the abused wooden panels, and he thrust. He had no intention of pushing any part of himself into Godric apart from his fingers, and those he left there solely because they were siphoning words and whimpers and throbs out of Godric that Eric had never witnessed in him before. Still, he could not help but thrust forward, and _forward_, and he rather liked the idea that whatever happened was happening through their clothes. This, he wanted to feel. And this, he wanted Godric to _see_. Godric, who was now cradled in his lap and his arms, empty of defiance, still riding out the last of his shivers, the last of his sounds. How long had it been for Godric, Eric wondered, if he was still so strung against him. Godric moved along with his hips, and once he subsided, his head rested jerkily against Eric's shoulder as Eric pushed him further and further against the door.

Eric rose to his knees and his fingers stopped moving inside Godric, merely anchoring him in place as they rammed against the door and it broke off its remaining hinge, sending them half-sitting, half-lying against the wall. Godric moved further into Eric's embrace. For that one glorious moment when all he could feel was his own body flickering as close to life as it ever would, Eric pretended that Godric was doing it for him and not because the wall was filthy.

If his own climax was as long as Godric's, he didn't know it. It felt short, much too short, much too Godric-less. Watching Godric unfold in spite of himself, before him, with him, around him, had been far more memorable--but he would surely have done some permanent damage to himself if he hadn't followed Godric as he had, and he hadn't even been in a state to try, so now he had to hold onto the memory of it and make sure it never left him.

He was _tired_, he thought, lying back against whatever piece of splintered furniture was behind him. Not quite ready to let go yet, he hooked an arm around Godric and dragged him along. Godric still felt quite mushy against him. How long _could_ it possibly have been? Eric sighed, ever so slowly coming out of his daze. He was really quite tired. He felt clammy. Godric was still forlornly draped on him, an arm haphazardly extended in the direction of dawn.

_Dawn._

What time was it? It was still dark, so no danger of ending the night burnt to a crisp, but what time _was_ it? Eric crinkled his nose and shook his head, trying to shake off the disorientation. He heaved himself onto his elbows and, as his middle section brushed skin where there should have been fabric, he forgot all about dawn. Godric's fly had come undone at some point and--he wriggled tentatively--apparently, so had his, but his clothes were still mostly in place and Godric's... not so much. He didn't remember doing that at all.

Considering the recent developments, he hadn't expected the sight of Godric's exposed backside to be quite so sobering.

Shifting around until he was sitting again, he glanced down at their rather dirty frames - there hadn't been blood _there_ before, had it? - and shook his head again. Godric's head withdrew drowsily from his shoulder and he shifted smoothly off Eric's legs, casting an equally confused glance at his own unkempt self. While Eric's brain was still lined with cotton, Godric's seemed to have kicked back into motion in the blink of an eye. While Eric was still trying to acknowledge what had happened and how, Godric had already pulled his clothing into place and sat almost neatly, gazing at Eric with the same numbingly infuriating hollowness of before.

Shamed by the poise in Godric's eyes, Eric fidgeted with his clothing until it looked no more than respectably blast-bitten. Godric moved nary an eyelash, but there seemed to be approval in his immobility.

A number of non-sensical words crowded behind Eric's lips, but he couldn't bring himself to say them any more than he could bring himself to reach out physically to his maker, so he sat, and watched, and waited until Godric made a move.

He had hurt him. The thought was ridiculous, but it flitted through the jumble of his mind and whirled shamefully around in his brain. He had taken his maker at the most fragile moment he had ever seen him and he had hurt him. If nothing else, he had shattered Godric's trust in him.

As Godric had shattered his.

Maybe.

Eric may have assumed wrongly.

Godric was staring at him, his lips still red from Eric's blood and his clothes torn by Eric's hands. He was staring at Eric as though he had never seen him before. If Eric had assumed wrongly...

Then Godric very probably would have much preferred him to stop. And he hadn't done it himself because...

Because either Eric mattered too little for him to bother or too much for Godric to stop him.

He had to reach out. He had to say something.

He opened his mouth at last, but Godric spoke first. 'Are you well?'

Eric's mouth closed, pursed, may have trembled at the question. Godric had looked down momentarily to wipe imaginary dust off the ruined, blood-spattered shirt that Eric had torn, but he was looking at him again, and Eric had no choice but to answer.

He managed a fairly firm nod.

Godric nodded back and sat up, wiping his sides and casting a thoroughly disheartened look around.

'I'm sorry,' Eric murmured, reverting to his earlier mantra as Godric gave up on the room with a sigh. He knew even as the words left his lips that he was at once not sorry enough for an apology, and too sorry for words to convey it, but he could not help finishing, 'Forgive me.'

Godric looked down for a beat, and then turned to Eric. His voice was soft, but much clearer than Eric's. 'It doesn't matter.'

Eric was quite sure he gulped at that moment, and his eyes slid from Godric to the floor. Godric turned to leave. His steps vibrated along the floor into Eric's knees. He didn't stand, didn't move, made no attempt to follow Godric.

Perhaps it was _that_ level of immobility that had prompted Godric to add, 'Really, Eric. It doesn't.'

There was no reassurance in Godric's voice this time. They may have been the smallest hint of aggressiveness, but Eric didn't dare read too much into it--again--so all he knew was that the polite reassurance of before was no longer there.

It mattered.

'They will be waiting for us at the hotel,' Godric's voice informed him from beyond the door. Eric didn't move.

They would, indeed. Sookie, in particular, would have her patience rewarded in her dreams. It was a pity she hadn't fallen asleep immediately after swallowing his blood. As it was, he wouldn't be able to join her as she slept.

Eric had lost his maker. He wouldn't sleep tonight.

____________  
THE END


End file.
